Return to Britain

The first snow of late 1990 in France arrived a little later than usual. But according to his grandfather, it was still more punctual than the Hogwarts Express.

After a white Christmas filled with Christmas pudding and mulled wine, Yulian's parents, Altair and Clara, finally packed their bags and embarked on their journey back to Britain with him.

The wines from Black Vine Winery had already secured a firm place on the high-end dining tables in Bordeaux, with even Muggle food critics praising them as "velvet on the palate, with a lingering finish like moonlight."

Grandfather, Grandmother, and Father Altair had all seen the opportunity and decided to bring this "magical flavor" to Britain—after all, where else would a country that needs three sugars in its tea need a touch of elegant acidity more?

Yulian was not surprised by this decision. Only he knew his grandfather's true intentions. Business was one thing, but more importantly—Hogwarts was in Britain.

Grandfather Alphard had hinted multiple times, "Beauxbatons? Hmph, those girls in blue dresses need music just to cast a Levitation Charm, too flamboyant."

Yulian wholeheartedly agreed.

Besides, which transmigrator would go to Beauxbatons? What would their memoir be called? My Years as the Campus Heartthrob at Beauxbatons (Though that doesn't sound too bad, maybe for the next book?)? Its sales wouldn't even be accepted at a Diagon Alley second-hand bookstore.

Bidding farewell to his grandfather Alphard and grandmother Elodie, who secretly slipped him a tin of "anti-seasickness mints," Yulian boarded the ocean liner to Southampton with his parents.

The black smokestack exhaled wisps of white smoke, gradually blurring the rolling vineyards and red-tiled roofs of Bordeaux into a watercolor painting, then leaving only a hazy silhouette before finally melting into the grayish-blue of the horizon.

Yulian leaned against the cold deck railing, the sea breeze carrying a salty, humid scent that hit his face, his slightly curly hair blown to stick to his temples. Yet, fragments of Black Vine Winery kept flashing through his mind:

The copper-red vines in autumn, the long bench under the oak tree in the backyard where his grandfather taught him to identify constellations, the arc of Leah's skirt as she stomped her foot and ran away, and the neighbor girl who always said dandelions could sing.

Ten years of time, the daily life he once thought was just an "ordinary childhood," now seemed gilded—or more accurately, etched with glowing magical patterns—by the revelation of the wizarding world.

"Already homesick after just leaving?" Mother Clara walked over and draped a thick shawl over his shoulders. The wool carried the faint scent of gardenias from his mother, dispelling the chill of the sea breeze.

Father Altair stood not far away at the bow of the ship, conversing with the crew. His dark green suit billowed slightly in the sea breeze, his every move exuding the distinctive uprightness and pride of the Black Family.

However, his eyes were not as deep as his father's, like an ancient well; instead, they held the competence and gentleness of a refined businessman.

He was a Black who grew up in the Muggle world, never holding a wand, never touching the secrets of magic, yet he was a trendsetter in the wine market, able to sell a bottle of red wine for the price of a Galleon.

Yulian nodded, unconsciously rubbing the button on his jacket cuff with his fingertips. "Yes, I'm a little reluctant to leave." This cuff was a unique design by his grandfather; with a gentle pull, the willow wand hidden in the sleeve behind his forearm would automatically pop out.

Yulian thought this design was brilliant and could be imitated when making school robes later.

He paused and asked casually, "By the way, Dad said the Black Family has no relatives left in Britain. Mom, do we know anyone else in Britain?"

Actually, his grandfather had told him about the Black Family.

He knew that Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, was a Black, and so was Bellatrix of Azkaban—but his grandfather had explicitly forbidden him from going near those "lunatics." Sirius, for some reason, his grandfather hadn't mentioned.

As for Andromeda, who was disowned... it was said she married a Muggle and her whereabouts were unknown (Grandfather didn't know that Andromeda's daughter, Tonks, was also a witch).

Alphard himself had his name burned from the family tree, so naturally, he didn't want his grandson involved in the old grudges of the wizarding world. "Just live your own life," he often said.

Clara's eyes softened with a hint of nostalgia. She reached out and gently stroked Yulian's head, the warmth of her palm transferring through his hair.

"Yes, my distant cousin, Petunia Evans. She married a Mr. Dursley and lives in Little Whinging, County Surrey."

Her tone paused slightly at this point, a flicker of imperceptible melancholy crossing her eyes. "I know she has a younger sister, we used to play together when we were little... but she's been gone for a long time. Petunia never liked to talk about the specific reasons. Oh, right, Aunt Petunia's family should have a boy about your age. You can make friends with him when you get there."

Evans? Dursley family? Little Whinging?

These words were like keys, unlocking a sealed vault deep within his memory with a "click"—no wonder he'd heard his mother's maiden name before.

Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! The Savior! The Voldemort Slayer!

Grandfather had calculated everything, but he never expected his daughter-in-law to be related to Harry Potter's mother. And his grandson—Shilam Yulian Black—was actually Harry's distant cousin.

(By the way, Draco Malfoy was also sort of his cousin—the wizarding world really was like a giant group chat, fanfiction novels don't lie.)

He suppressed the surging disbelief within him, his fingertips curling slightly. He lowered his head obediently, his expression unchanged. "Okay, Mom."

The sea breeze still howled, but Yulian felt his blood accelerating. Countless nights spent immersed in the wizarding world in his past life now overlapped with the reality before him.

Deep within a vast ancient castle in the Scottish Highlands.

His silver-white beard almost touched the open pages as Dumbledore's long fingers slowly traced the newly emerged names in the Book of Admittance.

Suddenly, his finger stopped. "Shilam Yulian Black" was clearly branded on the parchment, the ink still fresh, appearing on the last line.

His azure eyes widened slightly behind his half-moon spectacles.

The Black Family? That ancient, pure, and increasingly withered family tree, its last branches had already snapped. Sirius was in Azkaban, Regulus had already met his end... the dirge for the "last Black" had long been sung.

Then, this child...

His gaze shifted to the Registering Quill beside him. It had just finished its task and stood contentedly by the inkwell. Faint magical traces remained on its nib—a unique shimmer after it resonated with the ancient protective magic.

The Registering Quill never made mistakes. Could it be that this child truly had Black blood flowing through him, yet was completely forgotten or hidden by the wizarding world?

Or was he just a Muggle child who also happened to be named Black? The surname Black wasn't uncommon among Muggles. But Shilam... that name...?

He'd have to let Severus take a look when the time came. Oh, no. Severus might brew a pot of poison just hearing the name "Black."

So, he chuckled wryly and shook his head, deciding to have Minerva make the trip instead.